


Rough Puff

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bingate, Great British Bake Off - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Slash, Silly, Timeline What Timeline, Twitter made me do it, binge watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 08:58:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Aziraphale learns about baking shows. That's it, that's the whole story.





	Rough Puff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeesuperhero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeesuperhero/gifts), [dizmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizmo/gifts).



Crowley was having a perfectly ordinary day. His phone rang, a perfectly ordinary occurrence, and it was Aziraphale, a perfectly ordinary person to be calling.

"I wonder if I might use your television," Aziraphale said.

Crowley pulled the phone away from his ear, looking at it quizzically for a moment. "What do you need a television for?" he asked. "I thought you said it was the death knell for the written word."

"I believe I said that about the internet," Aziraphale said, which also sounded right. "There's a program I want to watch."

"What kind of a program?" Crowley asked, suspicious. "If it's educational, my set won't stand for it."

"It's a cooking show," Aziraphale said.

"Ah," Crowley said, because of course it was. "Well, I've got no orders at the moment, so if you want to pop over, it's yours."

"Oh, good," Aziraphale said happily. "I'll come there directly."

Crowley had the strangest urge to clean up; it was something that came from owning a place, not from any logical impulse, given that Crowley had only the lightest of effects on his living space. He moved his chair four inches to the right and felt infinitely better.

Aziraphale turned up quickly enough that Crowley knew he had hung up the phone and come right over. "You'll have to explain to me what streaming is," Aziraphale said, which was a step up, considering he frequently couldn't even keep the words for technology straight. "I have some catching up to do." He looked excited. "I might even do a binge."

"How much of this show are you planning to watch?" Crowley asked.

"I've seen one episode," Aziraphale said. "I believe series five is airing now, and I thought I might catch up before the next episode comes out."

"So, a lot of it," Crowley said.

"It's such a charming program," Aziraphale said; he was wheedling a little, but Crowley considered himself partly responsible for how well Aziraphale wheedled. It was just temptation by any other name. "I won't be any trouble. You might even like to sit down with me and watch."

The problem with Aziraphale was that he was adorable. Crowley drew the line at adorable, generally, but Aziraphale made that line go all wiggly. "Come on, have a seat and I'll set it up. What's it called again?"

"I don't think I told you," Aziraphale said. "It's called the Great British Bake Off."

\--

Crowley made to the first technical challenge.

It was just so _wholesome_. Everyone liked each other so much, and their panicking wasn't funny, just sort of sweet and bumbling. Everything was so bright, but balanced expertly to look cheerful and neutral-toned instead of garish. The music was just right for the occasion, and everything turned out fine. It was the audiovisual equivalent of a warm sweater on a cold day.

And it wasn't exactly that Crowley disliked it. It was intended to be liked, to scratch a very particular itch. Crowley was just realizing it was an itch he didn't have. He just kept wondering what happened to all that food.

"What's so hard about making some scones?" Crowley said, at the bakers' reactions to the reveal of the challenge. "People do it every day."

Aziraphale gave him a look that clearly expressed, _Poor, sweet, stupid Crowley, who doesn't understand food, what a dear he is_ without saying a word of it. It was really quite impressive.

"I'll be in the back if you need me," Crowley said, and he went to get drunk with his plants.

Crowley wandered back in some time later, having sobered up and washed his mouth out with vodka. "How are you faring?" he asked Aziraphale, who looked up, confused at having been interrupted.

"I'm at the end of series two," Aziraphale said.

"Making good time, then," Crowley said. "You really are bingeing it."

"It's exciting," Aziraphale said. "I could just sit here for hours and hours."

"You have," Crowley said. He noticed then that Aziraphale winced, wriggling a little. "Ah, sorry about that, the chair was a design choice."

"I can see that now," Aziraphale said.

There was a stalemate.

"Oh, alright," Crowley said, and there was an armchair. It was of a modern, squarish design, in a traditional black, with a tasteful amount of red trim. It almost looked like it belonged, though Crowley would probably send it right back to the aether when Aziraphale was done.

"Thank you kindly," Aziraphale said with a dazzling smile, as he decamped into the armchair.

Crowley was a sucker. He was a sucker for Aziraphale, to be sure, but also just a sucker in general.

Crowley had no need to sleep, but he really liked doing it, and something about this felt like the time for it. Having Aziraphale there felt comforting, though there was nothing Crowley was particularly afraid of. He slept plenty of times without Aziraphale there. It was something he could do. This was just… nice, was all.

Aziraphale was still watching when Crowley woke up, and by now it was getting to be a little much.

"I've got a thing," Crowley said. "Quick temptation, other side of town."

"That's alright," Aziraphale said, making no effort to move.

There was no temptation. Crowley went to a coffee shop. He had a cortado and then switched all the decaf beans with all the regular ones.

"Oh good, you're back," Aziraphale said when Crowley returned, thought he didn't clarify why it was good that Crowley was back.

"How's the show?" Crowley said, noticing that Aziraphale looked a little worse for wear. He also didn't need to sleep, or eat, or shower, but he looked a little wild-eyed all the same.

"I'll make it just in time for the new episode," Aziraphale said contentedly.

"You want anything to eat?" Crowley said. "I don't bake, but I could order something."

"Would you?" Aziraphale said, smiling brightly. "I'm famished."

"Starved for cakes, I reckon," Crowley said.

"And pies," Aziraphale said. He sighed. "Especially pies."

Crowley had no idea where you even got fresh pies this time of day, but that wasn't anything his cell phone couldn't solve. Soon enough, Aziraphale was set up in his chair, with a tartan blanket that Crowley most certainly did not own and a selection of hand pies at the ready. He looked so very cozy that Crowley felt he was intruding in his own space.

"I'll leave you to it," Crowley said, which Aziraphale did not hear, as the show was starting.

The only thing all the coziness did for Crowley was make him sleepy; the length of a television program sounded like exactly the right amount of time for a brief nap, so he retired to his bedroom. He could hear the faint strains of the cheerful music as he drifted off, content in the knowledge that Aziraphale was happy.

He was caring about that more than usual lately, but in his defense, he'd always cared about it some.

Some time later, the door to Crowley's bedroom- well, it couldn't actually slam, being mounted on a pivot, but it opened forcefully, almost spinning. Crowley sat up, blinking.

"Finish your show, then?" he said companionably.

" _You did this_ ," Aziraphale said, and Crowley had never seen him look more like an avenging angel, even when he'd had a flaming sword.

"Come again?" Crowley said.

"The baked alaska was _you_ ," Aziraphale insisted.

"That's that one from the seventies that looks like frilly underthings, yeah?" Crowley said.

"I know all your tricks, foul demon," Aziraphale said. "This is your handiwork, setting all of Britain against itself."

"With a cooking show?" Crowley asked, puzzled. Cooking shows had been one of Heaven's triumphs. "Look, I genuinely don't have any idea what you're talking about."

The fight seemed to go out of Aziraphale all at once as he realized Crowley was innocent. "Iain threw his _ice cream_ in the _bin_."

"Sounds awful," Crowley said sympathetically.

Aziraphale sat down on Crowley's bed, quite close to him. He was perilously close to finding out that Crowley slept naked, but Crowley just pulled the sheets up a little higher and put a comforting hand on Aziraphale's back.

"If only he had just calmed himself," Aziraphale said, distraught. "All that work for nothing, just to go in the _bin_."

"Just awful," Crowley said supportively.

"And everyone is so _angry_ about it," Aziraphale said.

"So angry," Crowley said, rubbing circles on his back.

"And the things they're saying about poor Diana, it's unconscionable even though it was her fault," Aziraphale said.

"The worst," Crowley said soothingly, ignoring the fact that Aziraphale had apparently been following all of this on Crowley's laptop, which Crowley hadn't even thought he knew how to do.

In a dramatic move that the best Regency heroine would be proud of, Aziraphale let himself collapse onto the bed, partially onto Crowley, who didn't move away. "I don't know if I can bear to watch it again," Aziraphale said.

Crowley patted his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll move on. There will be other episodes."

"I might need a fainting couch," Aziraphale said; Crowley knew by this point that Aziraphale was fucking with him, but he didn't give it away.

"I'll bring only the finest smelling salts," Crowley said.

Aziraphale maneuvered over next to Crowley, separated by the sheets. He blatantly put his head on Crowley's pillow. "It would have been such a lovely baked alaska," he said wistfully.

"We shall never see its like again," Crowley said solemnly.

Aziraphale laughed. "I really have been ridiculous," he said. "Thank you for indulging me."

"I indulge you all the time," Crowley said, and he didn't mention the part where he was indulging Aziraphale in regards to letting him lay in Crowley's bed while one of them was naked.

That came up later, and at length, but in a good way.

\--

"You made some ice cream melt?" Beelzebub said, looking perplexed.

"Oh yeah," Crowley said. "Totally me. Very big to do on Twitter about it, loads of angry people taking it out on each other."

"What's Twitter?" Hastur asked.

Crowley resisted the urge to sigh. He was criminally underappreciated and misunderstood in Hell; at least that meant they'd never realize that it was free will and a hot day that landed the baked alaska in the bin, not demonic interference.

"Trust me," Crowley said. "They'll be talking about it for _ages_."

**Author's Note:**

> This is the dumbest fucking story and I don't apologize for it


End file.
